Wonderlock
by lovelynobody00
Summary: Sherlock AU with Alice in Wonderland crossover. Johnlock. Alice witnesses a murder and is nearly killed by doing so. After surviving, she turns to Sherlock, the Hatter, and John, the Hedgehog, to take her case and catch the killer. A new madness is rising with the help of a new drug and the trio are caught right in it's web. warning: slash, drugs, gore
1. Out of the Hole

_You dolt, he almost nicked your soul!_

Yes, yes, that was quite dangerous. But she had survived with only a slight head cold that the freezing sewer had given her.

Poor Alice had thought herself to be dead when she was tossed down a construction hole the other night. She'd seen too much. Murder, in fact. There was little hope when that happened between Londoneers. Not one is completely on its rocker and it's dangerous. But London was where the work was.

She sniffed uneasily, making her way down the cobblestone street, searching for the digits. 221 Baker Street, was it?

_That is correct._

Yes, yes. Good, nearly there.

Alice's body gave a slight tremor from the muggy chill of morning. Looking up through the fog of London, she could see that the Moon was just beginning to fade for the Sun. It hadn't been that long ago then, when she had the run of her life. Just then, an automobile honked testily for her to move out of the road's path she'd begun to walk across. She waved apologetically and hurried over.

_Left foot. Right foot. Keep going. You're almost there._ Silent talking.

That was a bit not good. Thoughts were fine and dandy but these were nearly audible to her ears. How long had it been since Alice had taken her dose?

_A week and a half._

Alice sighed wearily for the voice whispering through her eardrum. She knew it was correct but she grabbed hold of the watch-pendant around her neck. A night overdue by the looks of it. Digging through her bag, she grasped for a small glass bottle holding a dozen delicate little heart-shaped pills.

Insanity was a common disease in the world. Everyone universally had a certain level of madness that was intensely set on being controlled. To be exact, there were four levels of madness.

Level one was the least insane and by far the safest of people. As each level progressed, the madness was harder to control. You could be crazy enough to where hallucinations were seen through the eyes as far as mindless desire for killing. The higher the level, the more pills had to be taken.

Popping open the bottle, she deposited three pills into her palm and swallowed them down. Alice had been born a level two and her line of work had raised it another. So three pills it was for the illness.

Finally, she stopped at the front steps of a quaint little shop named Speedys. She placed her hand on the glass window. Even though it was dark, she could feel the warmth and smell of bread radiate from the shop. It would have been nice to go in and have a cup of tea when it was open. But a shiver pulled her mind from the notion and onto the black door to the side. The brass address read 221B and she walked nervously up the steps.

Alice hoped this 'Hatter' would be of use to her. She'd seen a small article in the paper from a John H. Watson and read his cases. He was brilliant by the looks of it. The proof was in the print. And of course people talked. His name was Sherlock Holmes but the press had tailored his title as 'the Hatter' along his mate John Watson, 'the Hedgehog'. A silly name for a man, she thought, but he seemed to carry quite endearing characteristics in both appearance and personality that, it seemed strangely fitting.

She pressed the button which sang a small alarm to the inhabitants that a guest had arrived. It was only until doing so that Alice felt rather embarrassed for calling help at this time in the morning. These men were probably still asleep. Alice didn't feel she'd have a choice or time though. Her life was still indefinitely in danger. She'd witnessed a killing. It hadn't been the actual killing that had frightened Alice, but the killer itself-

_Silly brain you have. The Scotland Yard could have helped you,_ the voice interrupted.

Alice twitched at that comment and hoped the pills would kick in faster. Scotland Yard would be the last place she'd turn to after what she'd seen. Before Alice could think to reconsider her action, she heard the bustle of feet behind the door.

"Coming!" the sleepy voice of a lady called. Alice heard the clanks and clinks of clockwork and levers being pulled before the door opened. She gave her best smile as an elderly lady's feathery blond-gray head popped out. Guilt etched into her features when the lady rubbed her eyes of sleep. "What is it, dear?" she yawned. Alice smiled a bit more, the landlord's sweet disposition calming her nerves.

"I…I'm sorry I chimed in so early. I just needed to speak with-"

"The boys? 'Righty then," the lady cut in softly. She opened the door and ushered Alice in. She was dressed in a thick fluffy bundle of a gown and slippers along with soft cotton night cap on top of her head. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, come in, come in. You're freezing!" she pestered motherly. It was very comforting to the girl and she quietly obeyed.

Mrs. Hudson led her over to the staircase. "Now, I'll go see if Sherlock's awake. Sometimes he's up at this hour," she said, patting Alice on the shoulder before heading up the creaky steps.

There, Alice waited, warmth finally seeping itself back into her body. The lab coat she'd been wearing when she fell down the hole had soaked up freezing water and grime so she left it in a heap in the sewer before climbing out.

Her hands trembled, remembering how violently she'd been shoved into the abyss. The hole had been a construction site for plumbing. Alice had ran to the wrong place just as badly as she'd been at the crime scene at the wrong time. She thought back to the moment she'd awoken to the nightscape of stars trying to be seen through London fog; the dull pain in her knee that had banged against a lead pipe on her way down; and the heavy _bump. bump. bump._ of both her head and heart. The sound of trickling water and the squeaks of the rats forced her onto shaky legs. "I survived?" she'd mumbled dumbly. "That's interesting." There she'd begun to bawl from the overriding turn of events.

Alice sat in the hole, not daring to fall asleep, for what may reside in the sewers. She sat there alone with her thoughts- and _oh_ those thoughts. _If this doesn't level you up, I'm not sure what will._ She bit her lip, trying to forget the images of a massacre from her head. There, Alice decided to count the drops of water that dripped into a growing puddle of muck. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

_Yes, yes, good. Keep busy. Just until help comes,_ she thought. And she sat there, looking at the sky, until night turned to day and construction workers bustled to pull her out. She'd refused to go to the hospital and-

"Yoo-hoo!" a sweet voice plucked her from the thoughts. She looked up to see Mrs. Hudson coming down the stairs. The lady tilted her head. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked. Alice swallowed the lump choking her voice and stammered, "Yes."

"The boys are waiting," she informed. "I'll go make you three some tea while you're at it. Just go on up, dear." Mrs. Hudson bustled evenly back to her own apartment, leaving Alice at the foot of the staircase. She took a shaky breath to compose herself and made her way up to the flat.


	2. Morning Call

"John."

_Ignore it. _Roughly, twenty seconds passed blissfully.

"… Are you awake yet?"

_Go away_, John thought.

"John, wake up," A more insistent tone.

"Sod off," The sleepy doctor grumbled.

John grunted defiantly and curled into a tighter ball away from Sherlock. It was too damn cold and too damn early to be awake.

Sherlock stared at the snoozing bundle in the bed, his patience worn thin. John heard a restless sigh before the comforter was being ripped from his body.

"Sherlock!" John hissed grumpily. Okay, he was up now. Rage plus the cold equaled a waker-upper. "What the bloody Hell do you want?"

Through the shadowy atmosphere of his room, John could make out the tall figure with curled hair that had a crazy disposition of bed-head, his robe ruffled, and had trousers on for some reason. There was an excited gleam in his gray eyes.

Sherlock stood over John's bed with half of the comforter in his arms. He had been up for hours and was just beginning to retreat to his room before the chime sounded. Sherlock stood infront of the window, gazing at a small shadow of a girl standing at their doorstep. When Mrs. Hudson invited her in, he decided trousers were in order. Mrs. Hudson had no kin that young, most were at a more adult age and by the figure's height and face, he knew she was in her early twenties. A client then. Trousers were in order.

Sherlock wanted John to be with him for this. Already, he knew this case may be promising if the client herself had to come to them at this hour. _Desperate._ He almost grinned as he slipped his legs into a pair of trousers. He always liked the desperate ones; they showed promise. And if this case were to be good, Sherlock didn't want to have to reiterate the girl's story to John later in the morning.

"We have a client, John." He responded.

John blinked back sleep, sitting up. "At this hour?" he snatched the comforter from his mate's hands. Sherlock accepted this action to go through John's wardrobe and pulled out a pair of trousers. "It would seem so. Mrs. Hudson should be here any moment with her so you might want to-"

A gentle rap at the door sent Sherlock out of John's room, giving him the privacy he needed to dress himself. John sighed, rubbing his eyes for a moment, before dragging himself out of bed and wriggling into the trousers. He tried to smooth down his ruffled hair as he brushed his teeth, and the cold rinse to his face woke him up a tad more. When he'd stepped back into his room to slip on a shirt, he instead fell over into his warm bed. There was a sleepy groan still, the pillow very comforting under his face. _Just wait till you're asleep. Sound and snug in your bed. I'll get you_, He thought evil thoughts.

Only at first. The notion was then sadly dismissed. If Sherlock rarely slept anyway and he was doing so, that could mean exhaustion: something John tried best to alleviate Sherlock of. Waking him from rest wouldn't be the smartest thing for the ex-army doctor to do. He sighed. _I'll never win._

Sherlock tapped on the door. "Mrs. Hudson is bringing tea." He lured. That gave John something to look forward to. He rose again and opened the door. Sherlock was already going down the stairs to the study. Quickly, he pulled on a shirt and made his way down as well. John made sure to give his flat-mate a cross look. "This better be good." He muttered. Sherlock smiled, twiddling his violin, "Likewise."

They then heard a hesitant knock on their door. "Hello?" the client called meekly.

Sherlock made for the door, and opened it, revealing a girl in short stature and long fair hair. "I'm Alice Pleasance." She addressed with the smallest of smiles.

"It's nice to meet you, Alice." John replied with kind tired eyes.

"I'm sorry for the hour. I-I just didn't think I'd had enough time." The poor girl was clearly trying her best to keep a poise look about her but there was a fretful tinge stained through her eyes.

John raised his hands and smiled, relaxing the frazzled guest. "It's fine. Come on in." She nodded and stepped in, passing Sherlock as she did so.

Alice wore a blue dress with dark frills, brown boots- for running? - carried a blue satchel with a flamingo sewn on it, and wore a brass watch-pendant that hung from a silver chain. _For her dosage_, Sherlock assumed. She smelled of lavender and lily soap- not cheap but not overly expensive- money to spare and practical shopper. Good job as well. She had steady hands with long spider-like fingers- minus the nervous tremble- nerves got to any person's grip, even one that did surgical work.

Doctor, then? No, light wrinkles near the eyes suggested more squinting than usual. She had to pay a great deal of attention on detail. Preciseness and skill in looking for things. Mortician. There was a good reason to keep the watch by her side after all. Level three and up could get dangerous if they didn't stick to their meds. He knew she'd be higher than a two. A mortician's career is a mind modifier on it's on with having to scrutinize and score through countless bodies with their own hands.

There was a faint scent of dirt and chemicals Sherlock picked off of her hair as she walked past him to enter the kitchen. Had she been digging deep somewhere? He knew Carroll Corporation insecurely flushed its harsh wastes down the sewers of London.

Sewers. Sewers. Sewers. One did not simply go down those death traps in London. Sherlock remembered a case where a rapist took their victims down the sewers for torture. Some had died by the killers hand; many from the dangerous maze of death the tunnels produced. Sewers were very not good. An accident then. Judging from the earthy scent that barley had the tinge of waste, she'd fallen in a fresh part of the sewers; yet to be cemented over and completely washed in chemicals. Construction site. Interesting.

Sherlock's observation had been executed the moment Alice made timd strides from the door to the kitchen. John watched Sherlock's eyes scan the girl head to toe and noticed the slight twitch of his nose when he'd casually inhaled. _Already?_ He thought. _Bit early to start sniffing girls, isn't it? _John motioned with a tilted head. Sherlock caught onto it and only rolled his eyes.

The client's eyes tried their best to avoid Sherlock's piercing gray gaze. She knew when she was being looked over. She crossed her arms and did her best to speak up. "So… you're the Hatter and Hedgehog?" she tried to strike conversation before asking the favor. Sherlock's serious gaze melted away with an exasperated expression.

"Oh _God_." he griped. John, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" Alice startled. _What have you done_, she thought,_ this is why I tell you not to speak out. Words affect everything, you dolt._

While Sherlock leaned against the counter, clearly unhappy with his guest now, John decided to pipe up. "We'd prefer if you'd recognize us as Sherlock and John, Alice. Those titles are a bit-"

"Mad," Sherlock cut in. "I don't even _wear_ a hat! The press wanted me to sport it for the papers. Ugh, how ridiculous!" he whined.

"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes!" Alice stammered. She didn't know if she'd get help if the associate was unhappy with her. By this time, John had crossed his arms, silently cursing his mate for being overdramatic. Sherlock noticed. "Just Sherlock, please," the detective sighed. "Mr. Holmes is more of a heading for my brother."

"Won't you sit down?" John asked, guiding her to the couch. "I'll go help Mrs. Hudson with the tea," he informed them before leaving. Sherlock, meanwhile, set out in the kitchen for spoons and sugar.

Alice's legs evaded around skyscrapers of books and manila files upon entering the living room. She had to make a tiny hop around papers that had littered the floor and nearly toppled a strange mannequin torso protruding with blades- an experiment? While Alice went through the hassle to reach the couch- which sadly wasn't that long a distance- her eyes roved over nearly every inch of the flat. There were boxes of books everywhere, frightening amounts of weapons such as knifes and axes lying on a small table. She'd spotted two bookshelves brimming full with books and artifacts like maps and pinned insects. On the crimson and gold pattern walls, a few paintings hung here and there but the oddest ornament was the skull of a bison sporting clockwork-ear receivers. A music stand stood cluttered with sheet music, possessing talent Alice found impossible for her hands to follow. The violin it belonged to was sitting in a chair, which sat across from another chair near the lit fireplace. On the mantle of the fireplace, she stared at the skull sporting a top hat before moving on. Whilst sitting down on the couch, Alice noticed a work table. Chunks of iron and brass, large and small, littered it among various tools and electric implements. _Could one of them be a bio-technician? _Alice thought to herself.

Bio-technicians were highly looked up to in London. Many improved appliances and created completely new inventions for Londoneer life. But there were the select few that built many forms of life just with synthetics and electricity. Most of the inventions were clockwork but times were moving on and using greater methods in bringing life. Alice missed the more mechanical days. At least things didn't seem so morally wrong. Carroll Corporation had a pride investment in its bio-technicians. '_Making the world of tomorrow, one head at a time._' The Corporation's dark humored quote announced itself proudly through her head. To be frank, Carroll Corp had a reputation of testing its experiments on Londoneer prisoners, and on more than one occasion it was her job to study the wounds and give the data to Carroll Corp.

Alice had been staring down at the coffee table- which was blanketed with scribbled papers- when a cup of tea was set down infront of her. She looked up to see the kind eyed doctor with his own cup, sitting down in the chair next to her. She smiled gratefully and drank up. _Needs sugar_, she thought without asking for any. Sherlock noticed the too placid expression she wore and placed a bowl of sugar cubes on the coffee table.

"Now, Alice, why are you with us today?" he asked, eyes hungry for a new problem.

**Ohmygosh, I'm sorry for not even getting to Alice's story! I like to stop chapters at around four or five pages, so this ending must be frustrating! Sorry, sorry, but I'll get right on chapter three immediately for you readers **


	3. The Horseman

"Finished your rounds, Pleasance?"

Alice nodded while blinking sleep from her heavy eyes. She had been elbow deep in a murder-case's chest cavity just moments ago. The boss stretched, ready to go home and sleep. "Crazy murder streak this week, hm?" He groaned.

"Mm." she replied quietly. Dr. Jones helped her put up the cleaned equipment.

There had been a handful of killings in five days; a victim rolling into the morgue every morning. Alice grimaced about the obvious chain that had wrapped itself around the corpses. Each one of their heads were either decapitated or bashed in beyond facial study. It must have been a level 4 serial killer. And that was worrisome. The British Rule did it's best to keep all level 4's under surveillance until they leveled down or met their end. If a level 4 was walking around the streets hidden, people were in danger.

"Better be careful, Pleasance, this 'Horseman' is out for our heads." Her boss commented with a weary chuckle. Alice nodded, taking the warning more seriously. It was off-putting.

* * *

"One emergency rescue doctor, one oncologist, a pediatrician, and two independent Biotechnicians," Sherlock cut in.

"How did you know?"

"I've seen the case files. You were the one that took the pictures for me, it seems."

"Small world." John said.

"Indeed. The press has dubbed the killer as 'The Horseman' now, has it? Preposterous."

"Catchy." The other man chimed. Sherlock rolled his eyes but Alice made note of the small smile that tugged at the man's lips for a small moment.

"May I continue?" Alice asked. Patience was a virtue but the woman didn't feel she had the time.

"Please." Sherlock waved his hand her way.

* * *

She was cleaning her hands in hot water and soap for the third time. The older doctor shook his head before grabbing his coat, the clutter of pens tapping against each other in his pocket.

"I'm going to get some ginger ale from the break-room. Do you want to share a glass with me before you leave?" he asked.

Alice shook her head, turning the left dial to make the water hotter. "I'm tired. I'll be going home after I'm done here." She replied, giving a smile. The doctor nodded and headed out.

She had been a full-time mortician for two years, yet the feeling of contamination seeping into her skin was always there. The young woman had not planned to play the role but the Career Assessment's decision was literally law. Alice had no problem with the fluids, organs, or even the smell of the corpses that rolled into her lab. Just the feel. Simple as that.

Alice stashed the day's current files into her bag and headed out the door. She yawned, taking a left down the hallway with a weary stride. It had to be nearly two in the morning. The dim hallway she walked through was quiet as usual except for the few moans of level 4 patients- which were always kept at ground level in case of emergencies.

She was just passing by the nurses' break-room when she heard what sounded like glass shattering against the floor. Alice stopped just beyond the door. She stayed there, silently, waiting for some line of clumsy cursing or shuffling.

"Everything alright, Dr. Jones?" she asked, reaching for the door knob. She managed to open the door halfway and take a step in before a skull pulverized beneath a foot in front of her.

Alice felt a tremor of hot fear jolt through her body. Her cheeks flushed with a sudden adrenaline rush and there was a tingling sensation shooting through her finger tips and toes.

_Weird_, the voice mused_, don't the horror stories say you're supposed to feel cold when afraid?_ That was certainly odd.

The body that lay sprawled on the floor boards wore a white doctors' coat, riddled with ink pens. The mass and size was that of a middle-aged man. Glass lay scattered in pieces near his feet and on the table was an unopened bottle of ginger ale.

The blood and brain matter from Dr. Jones made half-hearted leaps out from his skull and dripped into absorbent wooden floor-boards as the killer removed his steel toed boot from the mess. Her breath was caught by her throat and her eyes trailed from the bloodied foot, up the leg of pinstripe trousers and coat, to a face looking nearly demonic in the candle light. She was more than surprised to recognize his face.

_Well I wasn't expecting that. Were you?_ The voice pestered in whispers.

No.

The man that began to remove his gore-covered boot was none other than Wyatt L. Carroll.

* * *

"I'm sorry?" John interrupted.

Alice gulped her tea nervously as the man looked at her with confusion. Sherlock's face did not change from it's hard expression except for a quirk of his eye brow. This was an interesting turn. The consulting detective was even more pleased to know the story was just starting by the looks of it.

"I walked in," she paused, letting the images recur through her head, "and witnessed the murder of my master mortician."

John nodded slowly. The gears in her brain cursed her for not explaining the story better. The voice was simply amused. They weren't going to believe her. "The Horseman, is Wyatt Carroll."

John tilted his head, thinking this through. "Of Carroll Corporations?"

Alice nodded earnestly while Sherlock spotted the slight tremor in her right hand. Not lying.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," she exclaimed. It was an unexpected outburst with a shaky disposition. She was too irritated to second-guess herself. "He stood in front of me and took off his boot."

"The murder weapon" Sherlock sighed. "He did not place his shoe on the floor after pulling it out of the victim?"

She shook her head, "He started removing his other shoe also."

After a moment, Sherlock clasped his hands together. "What next then?"

Alice cleared her throat with another sip of tea. "Then I learned he came with a friend…"

* * *

"Don't you hate those moments where you're at the wrong place at the wrong time, Miss Pleasance? I'm sorry for the shock." The killer mused. The man looked like Mr. Carroll and he sounded like him. _Oh dear_, the voice hissed.

Alice took a step back just before Mr. Carroll took the candle lit lamp and twisted the nozzle to the right. A burst of light illuminated the entire room, recovering a hidden body standing by the window sill.

He wore a white suit, had sandy blonde hair, with stubble around the chin and green eyes. He stared at her, amused but uninterested. Though he was rather attractive, the man was a frightening sight for the poor mortician.

Alice gulped down the lump in her throat. "W…why did you—"

"I've not got the time for this, Miss Pleasance. I have an appointment with a spider," Mr. Carroll shifted his gaze to the man in white. "You know what to do, Mr. Moran." Alice trembled, taking another step back. She was standing in the hallway now, her right heel already leaving the ground to make a run.

The man cricked his neck and Mr. Carroll twisted the lamp nozzle to the left. The light quickly dispersed, leaving the room dark. With a stifled gasp Alice bolted from the darkness and ran down the hospital hallway. From behind her, the thump of running foot-steps echoed down the hall. He was going to kill her.

"Help! Somebody help me! Please!" Alice screamed. No one came. Instead, level 4's echoed her. She had to get out.

Alice made a the last turn down the hallway into the empty lobby and bolted out the hospital entrance. The cold London air filled her erratic lungs and she ran down the block. No one was coming to her rescue. She knew the curfew of most people at these London hours. Everyone was asleep anyway. And where was the damn British Rule's watch when you needed it?!

Footsteps echoed her own down the cobblestone street and she looked back. The man was already catching up to her.

_Too fast!_ She thought with dread. Alice managed another block around a construction site until the man grunted; he had had enough. Moran grabbed at her long hair and pulled her into a rock hard embrace.

"NO!" she struggled in his arms. Moran grumbled a curse, intensifying his grip on her and staggering to a hole. A construction hole. She began to hyperventilate. He was going to drop her. She fought back heatedly, clawing at anything and kicking violently but to no avail. Moran wrestled half-heartedly.

"That's enough, Miss."

Alice gasped, feeling the ground disappear from her left foot. He violently shoved her towards the construction hole and she fell down in a swirl of darkness, banging into a lead pipe and tumbling down dirt, rain water, and large roots until she hit the ground. Air squeezed itself from her lungs by the impact.

* * *

"I woke up later and was stuck there until daylight," She said, a small tremble in her voice. John gently removed the empty cup from her shaky grasp and gave a comforting smile. "After that, I returned home for a day. Last night I saw someone sniffing around my apartment and knew I had to leave."

"And you didn't bother to go to the police?" John asked.

Alice shook her head. "I'm not bothering to put my trust in the British Rule after I just saw a high power kill someone."

"You came here without luggage except for that small bag." Sherlock commented quietly.

"I didn't think that packing would be smart. If anyone came in and found things missing, they'd known I had survived." She said.

Sherlock smirked. "Excellent decision, Alice. Good for you on that." He complimented with a nod of his head. John looked surprised. She guessed he didn't compliment anyone so freely. "So, what's in there?" Sherlock turned his attention to her bag.

"Just documents of the cases I dropped down the hole with."

"It's a miracle you survived." John said.

"I didn't suffer too many injuries. Just a banged up knee and head with some bruising," she rubbed her knee tenderly. "I think my leg took most of the aches and pains."

On cue, John headed to the kitchen. "Let me get you something for that, then."

"Oh no, I'll be fine."

"Listen to a doctor, Miss." John advised as he rummaged through a cabinet. Alice looked back at Sherlock who was now pacing around. He looked very deep in thought and she was hopeful that the detective would take her case.

"Well, I've told you my story, Mr. Holmes," she rubbed her hands apprehensively. "Can you help me?" Sherlock kept his eyes forward.

"You didn't fail to interest me. This is at least a 9." Alice tilted her head, confused.

"A what?"

Sherlock paid no attention. "I'll take the case."

"Really?" she said incredulously. "Thank-you Mr. Holmes!" she said happily, standing. For once in a long time, Alice smiled. Sherlock returned the expression with a slight nod, before making restless movements around the room again.

She bet he got bored quite easily. The detective reminded her of herself at a young age; in motion, curious, hungry for stimulus.

"You'll need a place to stay I presume." Sherlock pointed out. Alice fumbled with the idea. Her only two agendas had been to contact the detective and not get her head smashed in by Carroll. She needed to plan things out more.

"Yes."

Sherlock turned his back, fetching his violin. "Mrs. Hudson can let you live next door in 221C. It would be helpful if you stayed close to where we can find you."

"And protect you," John added. "Here you go." He said, handing her two white pills. Sherlock plucked at the strings of the instrument gingerly.

Once the doctor had given Alice of glass to down the pills, he turned to Sherlock. "Speaking of medicine, how long has it been since you took yours?"

Sherlock stiffened for a moment before abruptly placing his violin back in its position and heading for the door. "I'll go talk to Mrs. Hudson about Alice's settling." He slammed it shut, leaving a disgruntled doctor. Alice heard him mutter a curse before making strides back to the kitchen and opening the cabinet. Curiosity got the best of her.

"Problem?" she asked.

John returned, looking around the room. He must have been looking for something.

"Well, since you'll be spending time with us, I may as well warn you." The man's eyes looked more irritated than worried about his mate. "First, I should ask what level you are."

Alice raised her eyebrows. Most people kept their levels to themselves unless they were 4s'. It was ethnically customary to warn other people around you if you were a high level. It was an unsettling thing though, knowing someone's sanity and a casual degree. People would act different to your level.

John noticed her uncomfortable reaction. "I'm a level 2." He offered. Alice looked up.

"Really now?"

He nodded. "I used to be a 1 until I was assessed as a military doctor." Alice felt for John. The poor man must have seen hell back there. And sadly, level 1's were so scarce now. John sat himself back on the couch and Alice followed.

"I'm guessing you're a 2 also?" he asked.

Alice smiled. "Wrong Dr. Watson." She replied.

"Level 3 then?" She nodded and he sighed. She knew he'd made the same deduction as to her level up.

"The reason I'm asking is because two negatives don't make a positive," he began. "Sherlock is a level 4." Alice was stunned and John gave her a moment to let it process. After a beat, she nodded her head, understanding.

"It's always the clever ones." she humored. "Are his sanity traits violent?" It would be unnerving to live so closely to a level 4 but John did it so how bad could Sherlock be?

"It's mostly self-destructive. He won't eat or sleep for days. He gets massive headaches, the voices and words getting too loud and cluttered, he says. Sherlock will more likely verbally lash out at you than physically hurt you so there's no need to worry about that Alice." He reassured. "The good thing, now, is that he only usually takes the pills when he has a case."

"Why does he choose not to? An unstable level 4 is dangerous." Alice said.

"Because the instability can be helpful." Sherlock answered.

John and Alice looked back to see Sherlock. He smiled, seeing Alice's surprised face and simply ignored John altogether. He held out is hand to reveal a brass key and Alice stood to take it.

"Here is your key to your new flat. Mrs. Hudson says she can give you one of her relatives' clothes and John can buy your necessities since you won't be able to leave the flat much. I suggest you make a list for him while I get to work."

"You're getting on it right now?" John asked, standing up. Sherlock had already slipped his thick coat and scarf on. "It's three in the morning Sherlock!"

"Better early than late." Sherlock mused. He gave a wink and exited the flat, leaving ruffled John and weary Alice.


End file.
